Abby Forever
by Meg the fierce lady
Summary: Abby snapped a glare back to McGee, "that's not funny." One shot. Drabble.
1. Abby Forever

**Abby Forever**

Abby took a look behind her and breathed a sigh of relief. Safe. Four letters never meant more to her than it did right now. She turned.

And stifled a shriek of terror into a very tiny squeak that caught in her throat.

"McGee!" she snapped, smacking at his shoulder for scaring her.

"Sorry, Abby. Why were you looking so scared earlier?"

"I wasn't scared, McGee!" Abby looked out at the street again, "I was just... being cautious. I thought I was being followed."

"You were."

Abby snapped a glare back to McGee, "that's not funny."

"No, Abby, I mean, Ziva and I were following you."

"...Ziva?" Abby managed to choke out. She took a step back.

"Yes," Timmy said, "she caught up to me this morning. In my apartment."

"No..." Abby moaned, partially in dismay, partially in paralyzing terror. First Tony. Then Gibbs.

"I thought it would be best," McGee murmured, suddenly, into her ear. His hand was at her cheek in a parody of a lover's delicate touch, "if I were the one to... bring you into the fold."

"McGee..." Abby said, warningly. Helplessly. She felt the noose closing in ever closer. Ziva had fought to the last.

"Don't worry, Abby. It doesn't hurt.

"Much."

Fin. Take it what you will.


	2. McGee Always

**Summary:** "Yes, the gas explosion was a nice touch," McGee added dryly.

Okay, so given the slightly unfavourable reception Abby Forever received, I have decided to continue the story because of that. As usual, I tackle stories in a strange way- in the middle, mid-scene, flashbacks and the like. This time is no different. I'm going backwards. The start of the series was pretty much the "ending" and I'm looking forward to writing the next part which will feature Ziva. For now, though, enjoy McGee! (X-posted at Twisting the Hellmouth.)

* * *

McGee tiredly stepped into his apartment, carefully locking his door. He was shaken. Still shaking, he noted as he held out his hands. Loosening his tie, he looked over his apartment, looked at his life. His books. His computer. He sighed, scrubbing his face.

A sob choked him, but he fought it back. Dropping his pack, he rushed to his kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. Opening his fridge, he barely looked at the contents before shutting it again. He couldn't. Food was just not palatable to him, not now. Not when Tony had vanished leaving behind signs of a struggle in his apartment, a little blood.

It had felt strange, like a protective bubble had descended upon him, and he didn't have to think about the fact that Tony wasn't there to call him McGeek, or McNerd or any of the other vaguely insulting nicknames the other man could dream up. Nothing could penetrate his bubble and he kept typing at his computer, hacking into traffic cameras nearest Tony's apartment searching for any signs of him. Nothing could touch him as he made phone calls, sent emails, trying to _find_ Tony. Tony wasn't, he wasn't- Tony would be fine. They'd find him in the nick of time, because they weren't _too late_. They weren't.

Then Gibbs had come in one morning. Ziva had been sitting at her desk, staring at Tony's and playing with a pencil like she wanted to jam it into soft, relenting flesh. Repeatedly. McGee had shuddered and kept focused on his computer, but every so often, his eyes would drift to Ziva and the sick carousel would play all over again.

Gibbs had looked- McGee jabbed a keyboard button so hard it snapped out of its housing. Gibbs went to Tony's desk, touched it. McGee remembered focusing on Gibb's left hand, clenched at his side, so tight that it was white. Gibbs looked at them. First to McGee, then to Ziva. Then he went up the stairs to the Director's office.

Gibbs had looked, McGee finally finished the broken thought in his mind. Gibbs had looked…

Defeated.

The glass of water slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor. McGee cursed with a vehemence that he did not feel. In truth, he couldn't feel much at all. Protective bubble. Nothing could touch him.

Abby hadn't wanted him to leave, but he couldn't stay. Not at Abby's apartment. Not with so many reminders of the death that Abby liked to force herself to face because it was something she feared the most. Abby was stronger than he was, McGee could admit that to himself in the stark light of his kitchen at the bold reach of sunrise. Always the darkest before dawn.

He knelt, finally, to pick up the pieces. He didn't know why he bothered when all he wanted was for the world to stop. Just stop its uncaring turn, mad bustle and being so alive, not when Tony… and Gibbs. Not when their houses were sitting empty with things that would never be touched by their owners again. Their team had been slashed, cut off at the knees and then stabbed in the heart. With the discovery of Ziva's apartment, much more violently violated than Tony's had been, the crack team of NCIS had been decapitated.

Already there were noises of shuffling McGee to computer crimes, filling in spaces, desks that McGee couldn't bear see filled and agreed with the Director- he needed to get away. Whatever Gibbs had said to Director Shepard had closed the case on Tony, but Jenny refused to close the case on the disappearances of Gibbs and Ziva. There had been no bodies.

No bodies, but a slowly freezing case.

A slowly freezing heart, in McGee's case.

Dragging a towel over the spill, McGee finished fussing over the small mess in the midst of the tatters his life had become.

Standing, he dropped the towel.

"Hello, Tim."

"Ziva." McGee said, still feeling comfortably numb. "You look well."

"Oh, not a scratch on me," Ziva replied, a strange note of generosity in her voice. "I am in mint shape."

"Mint condition," McGee absently corrected, because of course, Tony wasn't there to do it.

Strangely, Ziva did not look annoyed. Fondness seemed to be the prevalent expression on her face. She smiled kindly at him.

"So," McGee said, casting about for something to say. "You… look well."

"Yes, Tim," a note of humour in her voice this time. "We have covered this."

"Your apartment is a mess."

"Yes. A regrettable incident," Ziva looked distant now, her eyes canting upwards and to the right of McGee's face. "I did not understand. I was… happy to see Tony and Gibbs alive. I foolishly let them in. They told a story. A fantastical, unbelievable story.

"In Mossad, they trained us, not to believe such stories, but to be open to such things, to accept that the world is more than we know. Tony started the story, Gibbs continued it. And I… well, the story was quite long, I'm afraid I made a very big mess of my flat."

"Yes, the gas explosion was a nice touch," McGee added dryly.

Nonchalant, Ziva shrugged. "As I said, I did not understand."

"But you do now?"

Ziva looked at him. "Yes, Tim. I understand it now."

"Well then." McGee said.

Ziva said nothing, only looked at him, tilting her head in that quizzical way she had. Her dark eyes seemed to probe the depths of his soul, but they were non-judgemental. Merely curious. Quintessentially Ziva.

McGee threw the knife at her as he dodged into the other direction. Ziva laughed as she plucked the knife from the air and jammed it into his thigh. Impossibly fast, and McGee groaned as he crashed to the linoleum. How had she crossed several meters in the blink of an eye?

"It's okay, Tim," Ziva crooned, cradling him. He had known that Ziva was strong, but not this strong. Not strong enough to hold him up from the floor like this. He trembled as he felt his heart pounding in his chest. "Everything will be okay now," she bent close, her grip on him steady and sure. He couldn't dislodge her on his best day, and today was certainly not that day. Her lips touched his neck and he wondered why now, facing his death, that the cocoon of protection lifted away. He wanted to feel nothing at his death, like he had felt nothing in the beginning with the loss of Tony.

Instead he felt stark terror, wet sadness and cold fear, and jubilant joy as everything faded away. It was 6:29 in the cold, crisp morning that McGee took his last breath.


	3. Perpetually Ziva

**Perpetually Ziva**

**Summary:** "Being wet suits you."

* * *

The knock on the door was so familiar that Ziva allowed herself a moment to feel her heart ache. Then she straightened her shoulders and reached for her gun. Slipping the chain on the door, she unlocked and opened it a crack.

"Gibbs." She said neutrally.

Her boss didn't say anything. He looked over his shoulder. Ziva's eyes narrowed.

"Say your portion," she said, stolidly.

"Piece," a familiar gravelly voice that lifted her spirits suddenly before she firmly squashed it. "Say your piece, Ziva."

"Tony," Ziva murmured, feeling a sting at her eyes. She blinked and the sensation went away. The acid in her chest didn't.

"Aren't you going to invite us in, doll?" Tony asked. He raised his hands, and Ziva felt her eyes drawn to the movement, trapped in the hypnotic motions that only Tony could weave around her. She tensed. Tony was quick to reassure her, "we won't do anything; we just want to talk."

Ziva shut the door, undid the chain and pulled it open again. They could see the gun in her hand now, but they didn't flinch. She stepped back, looking at them with her habitual suspicion, "if you're in trouble, Tony… I hope Gibbs head-slapped you."

That got a brief wry smile from Gibbs and he looked loads younger when he did. Tony grimaced, "Ziva, you crush me. Why is it you always think I'm in trouble?"

"Because you almost always are," Gibbs replied, swatting the back of Tony's head again.

"Thanks, Boss."

Ziva almost laughed. This was familiar territory. Comforting. She forced herself to sober. Too much had happened, and she needed to be wary, not distracted. She looked at the men who had not yet entered and her lips thinned, her suspicions flaring more brightly in the back of her mind.

She couldn't believe she was doing this, but they couldn't have this conversation where anyone could see or overhear. "Enter," she said, stiffly and formally, "and be welcome."

Gibbs' eyebrows arched upwards briefly, but he did as she bid. Tony followed, a slight smirk full of innuendo on his lips. She shot a look back and he chuckled.

Shutting the door felt like a nail in her coffin.

"Drink?"

"We're fine."

Tony slung himself onto her couch in his usual elegant sprawl. Gibbs growled, and Tony obligingly shifted over the inch or two needed for Gibbs to follow suit. Only with less sprawling and more sitting attentively. Ziva took the chair, the gun on her knee. She had a hidden knife within easy reach.

The silence was deafening, like the aftermath of a rifle's retort.

Gibbs looked at Tony. Tony looked at Gibbs. Ziva watched them both, feeling the slight amusement she felt whenever she supposed she was to become impatient and demand answers. Instead, she merely cocked her head and stared questioningly. A technique she felt was very effective, as loose-lipped people often felt the urge to fill the uncomfortable silence with a multitude of sins.

Tony finally cleared his throat. "What do you know of the supernatural?" He asked, by way of starting the conversation.

Ziva sensed the actual question was far more serious than it sounded. She answered honestly. "Almost nothing."

Gibbs was nodding approvingly. Unaccountably, Ziva felt as though she had passed a test. Tony smirked and sat back. "Well," he drawled, "forget what you learned about vampires from me. Garlic isn't much of an issue, except as an irritating smell."

Ziva shifted, turning her sight slightly to look at a reflective surface. The couch was barren of anything but slight indentations in the surface. She ruthlessly suppressed the shock, her training had her shunting the disbelief to a far corner of her mind and keeping her mind open.

"I can't quite figure out how we cast no reflection," Tony added ruefully, "doesn't seem logical."

"Magic," Ziva offered calmly. Only her grip on her gun tensed.

Tony was surprised. "You believe in magic?"

"I believe in keeping an open mind," Ziva replied. "We learned in Mossad to keep ourselves open to anything, no matter how strange and different." She paused, regarding them thoughtfully. "How did this happen?"

Tony ducked his head. "Ah, my fault. I got myself turned. Long story."

Ziva arched an eyebrow. "I have all night."

Gibbs cleared his throat. She realized her faux pas. She might have all night, but they didn't. Sunrise would come and they would become vulnerable. She wasn't sure if she would end up killing them or if she would even be able to.

"Sunlight?"

"We won't be working on our tans anymore," Tony confirmed.

"That could be a problem," Ziva agreed.

Gibbs smiled again.

"The thing is," Tony leaned forward, loose limbs moving with a preternatural grace, "supposedly when you're turned, you die and a demon takes up space in your body and becomes you. I don't think that's true. I don't remember anything but being Tony DiNozzo. I am Tony DiNozzo. Just with a new allergy to sunlight and a new food requirement of blood." Gibbs was watching Tony, Ziva noticed. The look on his face was indescribable.

"So you don't feel the need to pillage and maim innocent people?" Ziva asked.

Tony shrugged, "not especially. If I did, I would have staked myself." The look in Tony's eyes was troubled and he frowned. "I don't want to be bad or evil, so I won't be."

Ziva frowned, "but what of Gibbs?"

Gibbs snapped his attention onto her. She was unaccustomed to feeling like the bug under the microscope and she firmly held down the urge to squirm. "Turning Gibbs," she explained her tangent, "was an act of murder."

"I don't see it that way," Gibbs replied. "I've been given a tool to continue investigative work. Sacrifice is nothing new to me."

Ziva had nothing to say to this. She ruminated on all that she had been told. It was a fantastical story. She might have dismissed it as a prank were it not for the indelible proof right in front of her. They cast no reflection, and Gibbs hadn't even drawn a single breath while Tony had been talking. Tony still reflexively breathed, but Gibbs seemed to have embraced the change more readily than she would have considered him capable. Gibbs was full of surprises.

"Why are you telling me this?" Ziva asked. She looked them both in the eye.

"We want to turn you," Gibbs spoke.

"Just think about it," Tony added, "you're strong now. You'll be ten times as strong when you wake up. You'd be Super Ziva."

"Appealing to my ego only works if I have one, Tony." But it was clear that Ziva was intrigued. "I presume that the evils of men isn't the only source of darkness in the world?"

"There are other vampires," Tony nodded, "yeah. Demons, some are evil, people-eating demons. Others are more into kittens." Tony made a face. "Supposedly, they're a delicacy, but I don't really see it."

"There's more wrong in this world," Gibbs cut to the chase, "than we ever knew. Now that we're stronger, more powerful, we should use it to do good."

"With great power, comes great responsibility," Tony intoned. Then he brightened, "Uncle Ben, _Spiderman_. Awesome movie. If I couldn't be Spiderman, I suppose being Dracula is the next best thing. Although I think I'm more of an edgier, less depressive Louis from _Interview_."

Gibbs head-slapped him.

"Sorry Boss."

The levity shook Ziva free from her stupor. She had been internalizing her thoughts regarding the whole being turned into a vampire issue. On the one hand, becoming faster, stronger and more powerful would serve to heighten her abilities as metsada. On the other hand, such creatures were beings of evil. They could not walk in the sunlight; the source of God's power. They drank blood, which was also a sin.

She took off her necklace, holding the Star of David up. Tony looked away, but Gibbs held her gaze levelly. "Yes," he answered for her. "Religious icons repudiate us." He reached out and curled his hand around the icon. Smoke hissed out from his clenched fist before he pulled away. A burn in the shape of the Star of David appeared on the meaty part of his palm.

"It will go away in a few hours," Gibbs concluded. She couldn't look away from his ice blue eyes. "It's your choice."

Closing her eyes, Ziva swallowed. She loved the Star of David. But she loved people more. They all deserved a chance. How many of the thousands of people who vanish each year were eaten or sacrificed by demons? Yet, she couldn't reconcile herself to making that choice. Damning herself to save others? Damning herself to be with Tony? The look in Gibbs' eyes had echoed her thoughts, but burned with an intensity that they would do what was good and right. The hand holding the necklace went down. The jewelry barely made a sound as it hit the floor.

"I will make you work for it," Ziva spoke.

"Sounds fair," Tony drawled. "Could use the exercise."

There was a pause. Nobody moved.

Ziva shot at Gibbs first, because he was the greater threat. Even as she fired, she kicked out with her feet and threw herself to the side, grabbing the knife hidden under the lip of the side table. So armed, she slashed at Tony as he was suddenly in front of her. He bellowed as the silver blade sliced his neck, and he turned away. Gibbs staggered, but the bullet holes peppering his body barely slowed him down.

Ziva kicked the coffee table, launching the furniture piece into Gibb's shins. He crashed into the glass top of the table and bounced up, holding a jagged edge. Ziva wasted no time. Throwing the empty gun at Gibbs, she dove over the divider into the kitchen. She kicked at the stove, dislodging the gas pipe. As she did so, she grabbed a bottle of water, twisting the cap off swiftly.

Tony was there, hand at the wound at his neck which was already closing. "You're every bit as deadly as you claimed."

"I never claim," Ziva returned. "I state the truth."

"Holy water?"

In answer, Ziva threw the bottle at him, smirking as he flinched away, bringing his hands up to shield his face. He blinked.

"Not holy water." She answered him.

"Thanks for the impromptu shower," Tony replied wryly. Ziva reversed the hold she had on the knife, anticipating the close quarters hand to hand combat that would soon ensue. She shrugged easily.

"Being wet suits you."

The cheerfully feral grin Ziva got from Tony in return sent shivers down her spine and she denied that she enjoyed it. Tony threw the first punch and Ziva blocked it with the arm holding the knife. Tony snarled as the blade cut into his fist in a glancing strike. He was distracted by the scrapes that adorned the sensitive skin of his wrist, so much so that he didn't see Ziva's kick that sent him down. He grabbed her ankle and pulled her down with him.

Ziva kicked him in the balls.

Tony howled.

"That was a low blow," he snarled through his fangs which had elongated in response to the pain stimulus. Ziva stared at his golden yellow eyes, momentarily astonished, before shoving the inappropriate reaction away. Fighting for her life here.

"No such thing," Ziva said, evenly, "in a fight to the death."

"Undeath," Tony corrected.

"Semantics," Gibbs spoke at the doorway. "So who's turning you?"

Ziva considered, staring at Tony. Tony looked terribly eager. "You, Gibbs." Tony pouted. Ziva rolled her eyes, pulling herself up to her feet. "If you can catch me first."

Gibbs and Tony blinked in confusion at her. They had her cornered in the kitchen. Ziva smirked enigmatically. Her free hand turned on one of the elements on her stove. The blue flame spurted into life and she dove over the island, rising quickly on her feet as the roar of the igniting gas exploded, burning what remained of her kitchen. She hit the door running and was out.

When Gibbs and Tony emerged, patting out fires that caught their clothes, they spotted her leaning against Gibb's car.

"When you let loose, you really let go," Tony remarked.

Ziva smiled, "I thought I should have some fun before I die."

"No, Ziva," Gibbs said, "you're not going to die.

"You're going to wake up."


End file.
